He forced his hand down to his gun, and the touch of cold steel was another icy shock.

Then he waited.

But all was silent--silent as only a wilderness arroyo can be, with its low murmuring of wind in the mesquite.

Had he heard a step?
He began to breathe again.
But what was the matter with the light of his camp-fire?
It had taken on a strange green luster and seemed to be waving off into the outer shadows.

Duane heard no step, saw no movement; nevertheless, there was another present at that camp-fire vigil.